


Sun Through the Leaves

by RookflightandRisingheart



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Golden Deer, Post-Game, Slow Burn, Verdant Wind route
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28831047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookflightandRisingheart/pseuds/RookflightandRisingheart
Summary: Annette reconnects with Linhardt four years after the events of Fire Emblem:Three Houses, when they (along with Hanneman, Constance, and others) come together to find a cure for Lysithea's twin crests. She always felt like she could teach Linhardt more about working hard, but she'll find she has much to learn herself about his perspective.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Linhardt von Hevring, Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia, Manuela Casagranda/Hanneman von Essar
Comments: 37
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

_“Dear Queen_ ~~_Bil_ _Byla_~~ _Byleth,_

 _I am_ ~~_riting_ ~~ _writing because I don’t know what to do. Lysithea is getting sicker. I knew when we got married that we_ ~~_woodn_ ~~ _wouldn’t have much time, and Lysithea tells me it’s okay, but it’s not okay. I’m not okay. There must be a way to save her, a_ ~~_medisin_ ~~ _medicine, or magic, or maybe the_ ~~_godde_ ~~ _Goddess. If anyone can save her it is you. Please help us. Please._

_-Cyril”_

The letters on the parchment were large, scrawled with an unsteady hand, scattered with scratched-out mispellings or blots from the quill. There were also marks that, although dried and faded, were unmistakably from tears. 

Byleth’s eyes scanned it again, one hand to her forehead, her brow furrowed. Then she leaned back in her seat and sighed heavily, staring off at some unmarked place in the distance.

“That bad, hm?”

Seteth was looking at her intently across laced fingers, his face full of concern. They were sitting at Byleth’s council table. On official council days, the seats would be filled with nobles from throughout the United Kingdom of Fodlan, airing their grievances and discussing plans for the work of restoring Fodlan. But today it was just the queen and her advisor, a tray of tea and sweets between them, feeling very small against the large table and their larger problems.

Byleth set the letter down. “I knew this was coming.” She murmured heavily. “Lysithea’s been...ill...since before the war. And I’ve looked into it, as best I could, and there’s absolutely nothing in our records about whatever was done to her - let alone undoing it. Part of me hoped that the mages who gave her the crests were just… wrong. About how much time she had left. But Cyril’s letter dashes that hope…” She shook her head, rubbing her forehead again. “Those poor kids.”

Seteth looked down at his cup of tea, his face dark. “That’s certainly been the hardest thing about the whole…not growing old, matter.” He said solemnly. “You watch so many children reach the end of their stories.”

A heavy silence settled between the two. Left unspoken were memories of battlefields and fallen friends, from a past both recent and distant.

Byleth put her head in her arms. “I wish Claude were here.” She groaned softly. “He’d surely have something unbearably clever he could do, to pull a happy ending from a sad one.”

Seteth chuckled. “That boy never was one for accepting fate, was he?” He sipped his tea. “Pity he had to go back to Almyra. I imagine Fodlan would be rebuilt twice over if he were still - “

“If he were what?” Byleth cast Seteth a wounded look. “Are my efforts not enough for you, Seteth? Am I faltering in some way in my efforts as Queen?”

“Certainly not!” He straightened up hurriedly. “I was just - _saying -_ that Fodlan would benefit _additionally_ from his presence, were he here.” He smiled at Byleth suddenly, knowingly. “And I’m sure that not only _Fodlan_ would benefit greatly from him being here.”

Byleth blushed, and Seteth laughed. “Oh, go off, old man.” She grumbled, but she was smiling.

“Apologies.” Seteth sipped his tea again through a smile. “Teasing young ones in love is one of the few pleasures reserved for the old. When propriety is not an issue, of course.” He added quickly, his eyes darting unbidden to the painting of the Goddess that hung above the council table.

“Young ones in love.” Byleth echoed, her fingers brushing Cyril’s letter.

Silence fell again, as Seteth quietly drank his tea, and Byleth twirled the edge of the letter in her fingers. 

Finally Byleth sat up, thumping her fist on the table. “I’m not going to write back with condolences - there has to be a way to beat this.” She said firmly. “Claude’s not the only one who didn’t accept fate, after all. You didn’t, I didn’t, neither did Rhea or any one of our -” She paused, suddenly, her eyes flickering back and forth. Then her face lit up, with a fire that Seteth recognized immediately from their days fighting for Fodlan’s freedom.

“Seteth, quickly!” She grabbed his arm. “Go to the wyvern stables, I need you to gather -” she counted quickly on her fingers - “Four of our fastest wyverns and riders. Have them ready to take these letters the moment I finish writing them.” She turned to the pile of mail, sweeping it aside so she could grab a spare piece of parchment and a quill. “And grab Manuela if you can, ask her if she and her staff can spare time to prepare some of the dorms.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Seteth stood, cocking his head at her curiously as she started to write. “Who are we writing to?”

“One letter is going back to Cyril and Lysithea - we’ll ask them to come here, to the monastery, as soon as they are able. And the rest - “ Byleth looked up from the parchment, determined. “If we’re going to fight this war, then we need the soldiers who can win it.”

*

The first letter arrived at a modest farmhouse in the country. The handsome young Almyran who received it read it slowly, mouthing the words as he went. Then he thanked the rider who delivered it, and rushed inside to show it to his wife. She sat up in her bed, tucking a strand of white hair behind her ear, and read the letter thoroughly. She looked from it to her husband, bit her lip - and finally nodded. Face shining with hope, Cyril hugged Lysithea tightly, before setting about packing.

The second letter arrived at the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, where an older gentleman with a monocle waved it about emphatically while his ginger-haired assistant tried to pick up the books he knocked over. Finally he calmed and apologized to his classroom full of students. His assistant took the chance to snatch the letter and read it herself, in so doing dropping her armful of books. While Professor Hanneman finished his class, Annette rushed out to pack their bags, her heart pounding with a mix of emotions - nervousness about the task they were setting out to do, and excitement at returning to the monastery she’d held so dear.

The third letter found its way to an estate near the coast of old Empire territory, where the rider was almost frightened off by a tall and aggressively shirtless man shouting at him and challenging him to a brawl. The rowdy man was called off by the fair-haired noble of the house, who smacked him upside the head while she read the letter. The moment she was through reading she tossed it aside with a laugh, commanding her bodyguard to start packing her things at once. Puzzled, Balthus asked her what counted as “things” to pack, and Constance sighed wearily before striding off to take care of it herself.

The fourth letter was turned away at the estate it was attempted to be delivered to - its recipient did not live there anymore. Confused, the rider returned to the monastery - only to see the intended recipient strolling around the gardens. The rider quickly returned her wyvern to the stables and hurried to the gardens - only to find the man vanished once more. She spent well over an hour scouring the monastery, before finding the man curled up under a laurel bush, fast asleep. While he was put out at his nap being interrupted - and it being discovered that he’d been secretly living at the monastery for months - Linhardt agreed readily to help in what ways he could. So long as he could return to his nap.

Each letter read much the same. Queen Byleth was petitioning each scholar to come live at the monastery for the indefinite future, united in a single task - that of researching Lysithea’s dual crests, and finding a way to remove them and save her life.

*

“Can you see it yet, Professor Hanneman?”

“For the fourth time, Annette, you will be the _first_ to know when I can see the monastery.”

“I know, I know.” Annette twisted back around, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m just - so excited!”

She was sitting in the back of the cart, each arm thrown across a stack of books as high as her shoulders. Hanneman had told her she didn’t need to, but she wanted to make sure the piles didn’t tip over if the cart hit a branch or a pot-hole. The road from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach was well-kept for the most part, but many winding stretches of it had been left unattended or overgrown since the war. Annette watched the gnarled trees and woods vanish behind them as they trundled along the old road, straining her neck to catch a glimpse of their destination.

“I can’t wait to visit the library again.” Annette grinned, tapping her toes in excitement. “And the greenhouse - oh, I hope they’ve kept it up over the years! Oh, and of course I’m excited to see the Professor - I mean the Queen - and Lysithea too, it’s been so long! And we’ll get right to work on finding her a cure so she and Cyril can have a long and happy life together. Oh, wasn’t their wedding just _beautiful?_ It feels so long ago - and I mean, it _has_ been a few years, but _still -_ ”

Hanneman flicked the reins of the horses and peered over one shoulder at her, chuckling. “Annette, I admire your enthusiasm as always.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “Oh, I know what that’s code for.” Annette straightened her back, squinching her top lip as if it had a mustache and her eye as if it held a monacle. “ _Annette, you must stop that babbling before I get a headache! An old man can only handle so much conversation in a day!_ ”

Hanneman snorted, mocking offense. “I do _not_ sound like that!” But he smiled still, and both teacher and apprentice laughed. They'd grown to be good friends - ever since he was her teacher at the Officer's Academy, through fighting in the war together, through him asking her to be his assistant when he took up a teaching position at Fhirdiad's School of Sorcery. She'd happily accepted, and the past few years had been a blur of teaching, learning and magic. Annette had loved every minute of it. She also saw clearly, how the experience had prepared them both for the task ahead.

Right as Annette was gearing up to ask another “can you see it, yet” to the professor, the old man sat up straighter in the driver’s bench of the cart. “There she is! Garreg Mach Monastery!”

Annette abandoned the books to clamber up into the driver’s seat, kicking one pile over as she went. But she couldn’t be bothered with that now - she had eyes only for the gleaming white towers, just starting to be visible through the trees. Then the cart turned and the woods thinned, and there it was, framed against the blue sky - Annette sucked in a breath. Garreg Mach Monastery, sprawling like a contented white wyvern atop the hill.

Hanneman sighed deeply, a strange, distant emotion on his face. “It looks almost like nothing has changed.” He said, almost too softly to hear.

Annette knew what he meant. She had so many emotions tied up in that place - it had been so many different things at different times in her life. A place of joyful learning and youthful antics, then a place where she watched friends lose their lives, and later a place where hope was renewed after a devastating war...all of those memories suddenly welled up inside of her, a warm ache in her chest. She rubbed at her eyes, hoping Hanneman didn’t see. She needn’t have worried - he was blinking his own emotions away too furiously to notice hers.

Regardless of what the monastery once was to the two scholars, it was now the main seat of power of the United Kingdom of Fodlan and reformed Church of Seiros. Royal guards saluted them smartly as their cart rolled through the front gates, and a groom wearing the sigil of Fodlan on his tunic swiftly guided their horses to where they could park and unload. As Annette climbed down from the cart, the groom unhitched their horses and bowed deeply. “Queen Byleth sends her gratitude, and welcome back to the monastery.” He chirped. “She regrets that she does not have time to greet you personally today, due to a prior engagement. However, you will be attended shortly by -”

“As I _live_ and _breathe!_ ” Hanneman hopped out of the cart, eyes shining, and Annette spun around.

A bubbly laugh split the air. “Pro _fess_ or Hanneman!” An old friend strutted across the square to them, her hair brown hair bouncing above a wide smile. “You old rogue, you haven’t changed a bit!”

“Professor Manuela!” Hanneman laughed, sweeping up his old colleague in a hug. “ _I_ haven’t changed? Look at you, you look exactly as I remember!”

She swatted him playfully. “Goddess, I _hope_ I look the same. It’s only been four years after all, since you left the monastery!” She pushed him away, looking instead at Annette. “Ah, our little Annette though! Not so little - you look _beautiful_ my dear!”

Annette blushed. On the inside, she didn’t feel very different than she had when the war ended four years ago. She was still as short as she was then, although she kept her hair a little longer these days. But she _was_ older now, and Manuela gushed about it happily as she grabbed her in a hug. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for your face shape, and those eyes! Annette, if there isn’t a man in your life yet it would be a _crime._ ” She held her at arm’s length, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “... _Is_ there a man in your life?” 

Before Annette could answer Manuela looked over at Hanneman, eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me _that_ old fox -”

“No, _no,_ NO, no.” Annette and Hanneman protested in unison, Annette flapping her hands in front of her face, Hanneman spluttering like an overfilled tea kettle.

“ _Definitely_ not.” 

“Absolutely preposterous!” 

“He’s like - my _grandfather!_ ”

“To even think of courting a former _student_ , I - really? Grandfather? Ah - Regardless-!”

Manuela smirked as they flailed about, then laughed merrily. “ _Kidding,_ I was _kidding._ You’re still just as easy to tease as you ever were, Hanneman.” He continued to splutter, his cheeks reddening.

“A-Anyway.” Annette rubbed her temples. “No, Manuela, no man in my life of that sort. I’m far too busy as the professor’s teaching assistant.”

Manuela smiled at her in a "we'll see about that" sort of way, but then her eyes lit up in recollection. “Oh - That’s right!” Manuela clapped her hands together. “Hanneman, you simply _must_ tell me all about teaching at the School of Sorcery while we get your things to your rooms. There’s much to be done for Lysithea’s sake, but I have been working on rebuilding the Officer’s Academy from the ground up, and it has been no easy task…” She grabbed some of their bags off of the cart while she spoke, and Annette and Hanneman filled their arms with as much as they could carry as well.

Manuela chatted happily with them as they walked to the dorms. Annette drank in the familiar halls and grounds while Manuela told them about the progress of rebuilding the Academy, about Queen Byleth and Seteth and all else who frequented the monastery, and about the others who were already there for the Lysithea project (“Lysithea and Cyril arrived a few days ago, and that other couple arrived from Old Adrestian territory yesterday after the storm hit - very odd, those two, kept shouting at each other and the rain? But the _muscles_ on that tall gentleman-!”). By the time they reached their rooms, Manuela and Hanneman were deep in debate about the School of Sorcery’s semester system as opposed to the old Officer’s Academy’s single academic year, and Annette dropped her bags in the room next to Hanneman’s.

“Keep talking, I can grab the rest!” She called over her shoulder, heading back to the gates while Hanneman pointed out the finer details of semester-based exams.

The sun sparkled against the old white stones, and birds skittered about and chirped from the manicured bushes and trees. Annette skipped through the old halls as she went, beaming, singing under her breath. “Oh it’s good to be back in the school~ even though it’s not one anymore, a school~ although it will be one again~! When we’ve made Lysithea well - again~!” She stopped to do a little jump-kick move at the end of the verse. “It’s fine to rhyme school with school and again with again, right? Of course it is! Of course it iiis~” She trailed off the thought with a trill, waving her hand while holding an imaginary conductor's baton.

She continued to cheerfully hum the tune when she reached their cart and started to fill her arms with books. _Hm,_ she thought to herself, _maybe I should write a song about all of us coming together on the project. Let’s see, I’ll need rhymes for Hanneman, Manuela, I think she said those other two were named Constance and Balthus… I wonder who else Queen Byleth asked to come here?_ She piled books absentmindedly, hefting the stack in the crook of her arm. _A rhyme for Hanneman... tanner-man? Planner-man? Thank-you-ma'am-erman? Hahaha..._

She was so engrossed in thinking of rhymes, that she didn’t notice how high and precarious the pile in her arms was getting. She stacked book after book, humming to herself. Until she put one heavy volume on the top - not quite centered - and suddenly the stack started to tip. In the space of a moment she noticed the weight shifting in her arms, lurched forward, and reflexively flung her hands out to catch the books - flipping the whole of the stack into the air.

Before Annette could gasp, cry out, or flinch away from the rain of toppled books - a pair of hands caught the other side of the pile, pushing it back into Annette’s arms before the books could fall.

“Oh my - oh!” Annette gasped, slumping back against the side of the cart, clutching the now-settled stack in her arms. “Thank you _so_ much, I’m sorry, I wasn’t -”

A familiar gentle, lilting voice made her stop short. “My goodness, Annette. It seems you’re just as clumsy as ever.”

Memories flew unbidden to her mind. A boy with shoulder-length dark green hair catching boxes as she almost dropped them, or sleeping in class while she furiously shook him awake, or climbing sleepily out of a bush where she’d thought he was a dead body and was scared half to death. A handsome slight-smiled face with sleepy blue eyes the color of deep water, looking at her puzzled while she blushed up to her eartips.

Annette peeked out from behind the stack of books. “Linhardt?” She gasped.

“Of course.” The man she’d once _almost_ been in love with cocked his head at her, smiling in that strange, halfway manner of his, as if nothing had changed in four years.

“You - it’s - wow, it’s been so long!” Annette blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if to shake out all the fluffy thoughts and feelings. She laughed a high, embarrassed laugh. “How have you been? Where have you been?”

Linhardt shrugged, waving his hand vaguely. “Oh, I spent some time with my family at their estate, but then I came back to live at the monastery.” He stood back from Annette and the cart, giving her a chance to look him over fully. He was still tall, and still lanky in the best of ways, dressed in the same old tunic and baggy pantaloons he'd favored during the war. His long hair was drawn up fully in a bun behind his head, but a few loose strands framed his pale face. He brushed a stray hair out of his dark blue eyes, smiling sleepily at her.

Annette had to shake her head again. “Oh! Have you been - uh - working for the Professor? For Queen Byleth?”

“Not particularly.” Linhardt yawned. “I was mostly hiding in the library and gardens until her letter tracked me down and I was found out. So I suppose I have to work now, of course. Finding a cure for Lysithea and all that.”

Annette blinked slowly, adjusting the stack of books to improve her grip. It took her a moment to process. Finally she asked slowly, “Linhardt...did you… were you _invited_ to live at the monastery? Or did you just...live here...secretly...?”

He gave her a puzzled look, slowly tipping his head, before shrugging again. “I wanted to live here, so I did. It seemed like a...how does it go? An ‘asking forgiveness rather than permission’ sort of thing.” He smiled distantly. “And you really can’t find better trees to nap under than here.”

Annette paused. Then snorted. “Just...wow.” She smiled ruely at him. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you.” He observed, glancing at the books. “Still carrying too much at once. You really should carry less, and go in more frequent trips.”

“Right, right.” She turned to the cart, moving books off the top of the stack back in with the others. “Or you know, it would go a _lot_ faster if you helped - “

“No, thank you. Good luck!”

She looked over her shoulder, and Linhardt was already walking away.

She watched him disappear into the monastery, her mouth hanging open slightly. Then she spun back around, dropping the books back into the cart with a loud huff. “Goddess above, if I ever wondered why I never - I mean - _that_ is the reason! He _still_ can’t be bothered to help anyone, even for the littlest things.” She muttered. “He really _hasn’t_ changed. Not one bit. _Ooh,_ he drives me crazy.”

Any memories of strange, fluffy feelings towards Linhardt melted away like snow in the sun, replaced with low-burning exasperation. She grabbed a more manageable stack, hefted the books under one arm, and as she stomped back to the dorms she sent a silent prayer up to the Goddess.

_Goddess, if you can be merciful, let us find a cure for Lysithea soon - before Linhardt drives me completely crazy!_


	2. Chapter 2

Whether the Goddess heard Annette’s plea was yet to be seen, but the work itself began in earnest.

What was once the Golden Deer classroom was repurposed into a laboratory, furnished with the best tools and resources for Crestology. Professor Hanneman oversaw the work from his desk at the far end of the room, with desks for Annette, Linhardt, and Constance set up along the wall. The other wall was crammed full with bookshelves and equipment. Queen Byleth occasionally came to check in on the scholars, and sometimes the royal advisor Seteth came to request progress reports on her behalf, but for the most part they were left to their own devices.

Annette filled an eyedropper with a sample of Lysithea’s blood, tapped it carefully to remove any bubbles, and then dripped it onto the testing plate. “Okay, give the next one a try.” She said, nodding to Constance.

“Of course. This’ll take but a moment.” The blonde sorceress flicked her fingers, drawing up a glowing rune sigil in the air. She bit her lip in concentration, tapping different parts of the runes. Then she maneuvered it over the blood sample with both hands, fingers splayed wide over the plane of light, and barked a command word.

The blood glowed briefly - and then sparked and fizzed like oil in a pan, before bursting into flame.

Annette hurried to grab a basin of water while Constance swore.

“My _goodness!_ Language, Viscountess!” Hanneman looked over the rim of his monocle at the two, eyebrows arched.

“Apologies, apologies,” Constance said hurriedly, pushing her hair back with a frustrated sigh. “I fear Balthus has been - passing off some of his more vulgar habits on me. But that is no excuse for such unbecoming behavior.” She looked at Annette. “Apologies, Annette.”

Annette dumped the basin over the fire, smiling reassuringly at Constance. “Oh, don’t even worry about it! I’m used to putting out _way_ bigger fires than this.” She paused. “Usually I’m the one who uh…causes them.”

Constance blinked at her, and then threw back her head and laughed. 

Annette hadn’t formally met Constance before now, even though they’d both fought in the war alongside Queen Byleth. But she’d grown to like the eccentric Viscountess very quickly - especially after they discovered their shared connection to Mercedes. They swapped stories about Mercie while they worked, Annette sharing antics from their School of Sorcery days, and Constance sharing tales of their childhood together in the old Empire. Constance was also more than happy to talk for hours about herself; her life, her years with the Ashen Wolves, her studies in magical theory, her fallen and then re-instated House Nuvelle, her adventures and misadventures with her bodyguard Balthus. Annette couldn’t determine _what_ those two were to each other - there was clearly a depth of _some_ strong emotion between the two. Whether that was love or exasperation was impossible to say.

Constance knelt down to help her clean up the water, talking to herself in a disapproving tone. “I really _should_ have known that it wasn’t as simple as a purification pattern - after all, by definition Crests are not an impurity in the blood, but an aspect! My apologies again for such an oversight. It really is _so_ strange for a sorceress of _my_ caliber.” She stood up again, tossing her hair back over her shoulder with a short laugh. “But worry not, friends! If the aim is to transmute the very _properties_ of the blood itself, then already I have an abundance of ideas to achieve it! Undoubtedly this next attempt will be met with success!”

Across the room Hanneman smiled, taking off his monocle and giving it a polish. “Your enthusiasm, as always, is an inspiration to us all. And I for one would be _thrilled_ if you are correct, dear Constance.”

“Then prepare to be ecstatic!” Constance turned to Annette and waved her hand. “Ready the next sample at once, Annette!”

“O-Of course!” Annette went to prepare another test plate, but paused after filling the eyedropper. She peered through the crystal vial that held Lysithea’s blood - it was almost empty. “Looks like we only have enough blood for one or two more tries...”

“Hm. We still have quite a few tests to run...” Hanneman frowned. Then he leaned around the pile of books on his desk, looking towards the desk closest to the door. “Linhardt? Would you run to Lysithea’s quarters and ask for another donation?”

His question was met with silence.

Annette stepped over the half-mopped puddle to Linhardt’s desk, pushing the stacks of books on it aside with both hands. “He’s probably just sleeping aga- oh.” 

Behind the books sat an empty chair. She scratched her head, looking all around and under the desk - sometimes Linhardt liked to curl up underneath, much like a cat - but there was no sign of him. She put both fists on her hips, clicking her tongue. “Looks like Linhardt’s a no-show for today.”

Hanneman’s brow furrowed slightly, then he shrugged. “Oh well. Annette, would you mind going and getting the samples then? I can help Constance set up the next few tests in the meantime.” He stood as he spoke, shifting the piles of papers on his desk to make room.

Annette hesitated. “Of course, I’d be glad to - but Professor, this is the _third_ time Linhardt’s skipped working for the day.” 

“Yes yes, I too can count.” The professor seemed immensely busy with arranging a particular book on the floor.

“And shouldn’t…” She didn’t want to say _shouldn’t you be more bothered by that,_ or _shouldn’t there be consequences for that,_ or _shouldn’t that be taken more seriously since this work is life or death?_ So instead she put forth lamely, “Shouldn’t you...talk to him about that?”

“It _does_ seem _most_ inconsiderate of him.” Constance volunteered, and Annette nodded vigorously.

Hanneman seemed to decide the book was fine where it was. He turned to Annette with a long-suffering smile. “Linhardt, as I’m sure you well know, is...not the easiest man to give direction to. However, he is an extremely gifted scholar, and he contributes greatly to this endeavor _even_ when he is not here. I can speak to him about it, but I want both of you to know that I trust him completely. I do not doubt that he is giving this project his all.” He paused to let it sink in, looking pointedly from Annette to Constance, before clapping his hands together. “Now, if we continue to stand around simply gossiping about our colleague, _we_ will not be giving it our all! Constance, if you would bring me the samples and testing plates - and Annette, we will eagerly await your return from fetching another blood donation.” 

Annette grimaced internally, but nodded.

*

When Annette entered the infirmary, for a split second she mistook it for the library. This was a relatively easy mistake to make, considering Lysithea’s accommodations.

The old sick beds had been pushed up against one wall, making room for stacks and stacks of books. They nearly carpeted the floor. A single track ran from the door through the piles, winding past histories on one side and novels on the other. Like rocks piling up the slope of a mountain, the stacks of books grew taller and taller until they reached the one bed at the center of the room. Sitting in bed, surrounded by these piles, and with her nose buried in a tome almost as big as she was, Lysithea looked for all the world like a dragon nestled into its hoard.

Annette rapped the open door with her knuckles, smiling. “May I enter your book kingdom, Lady Lysithea?”

Lysithea looked up from her book, and her face lit up. “Annette!”

Annette wove her way through the piles of books, plopping the satchel with the blood drawing equipment at the foot of Lysithea’s bed before seizing her in an embrace. Despite her frailty, Lysithea hugged her back tightly, beaming.

Annette broke the hug first, pulling up a rickety chair that was by the bedside. “So what are you reading today?” She asked as she carefully sat down.

Lysithea picked the book up off her lap, twisting it to show Annette the cover. “Kaupmann’s Theories on Experiential Relativity. It’s fascinating - he theorizes that the reality of events is dictated by personal perception _of_ the event.” She flipped through the pages while she spoke, her voice bright. “I don’t know if I _agree_ that reality itself is determined by the whims of personal preference - but it’s entertaining to read about, nonetheless! You’ll have to give it a read when I’m finished - ooh, and then we can have a debate on the topic!”

“Heh, just like when we were students together!” Annette chuckled.

“ _Exactly_ like then.” Lysithea agreed warmly. She flicked a few more pages, hunting for a specific passage. “There’s one bit in particular I’d be interested in hearing your opinion on…here, when Kaupmann is talking about wide-scale events versus smaller ones...”

She rambled on cheerfully while Annette listened, cupping her chin in her hand and studying Lysithea’s face. Despite the cheeriness in Lysithea’s voice, Annette couldn’t help but notice that her skin seemed paler than usual. It was almost as white as her snow-colored hair. And while her rose tinted eyes still sparkled with wit, there were heavy bags beneath them.

“I’ll have to read the book to really see what my take would be.” Annette replied. Then she tipped her head and asked gently, “So, how are you feeling today, Lysithea?”

Lysithea set the book down and snorted. “Oh, same as always. I don’t feel wonderful, but I’m _fine,_ overall.” She sighed in exasperation. “Manuela and Cyril though - they are always fussing over the littlest cough! It drives me crazy.”

Annette relaxed. “Where are Manuela and Cyril, by the way?” She glanced around, as if they would spring out from behind a book stack.

“Manuela had to run an errand in town. And I asked Cyril to take my ‘read’ pile of books back to the library for me, and to hunt down some others I wanted. He’s...” Lysithea hesitated. She looked off towards the doorway, her face falling. “He’s...not...doing well. Which is understandable, what with everything...Having a job or a task to do helps him feel better. That’s why I keep asking him to…well, you can see.” 

She gestured to the many piles of books on the floor, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “When the entire library’s been moved to my room, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

She looked away, and a heavy silence fell in the room. Annette bit her lip, then gently took Lysithea’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “You seem a lot alike, that way.” She offered. “Needing to work.”

Lysithea nodded, quiet. “You know…” she said softly, “I’d come to terms with it. Goddess, I’ve known this was coming for so many years. I’d made my peace with what time I had. But Cyril… I can’t bear to think of what my death will do to him. I really only agreed to come here because...I need to know he’ll be okay.” She spoke in an even tone, but her eyes were dark - filled with a vast and wordless grief.

Annette’s heart clenched. She knew that face - it was the same face Lysithea had made when she first shared her condition with her friends a few years ago. When she talked about her death as though it were a homework deadline - as something unfortunate, stressful, even sad. 

But inevitable.

She opened her mouth, searching for the right words...and then closed it. Finally she squeezed Lysithea’s hand again. “We’ll make sure you’ll be okay. _Both_ of you.” She said firmly, trying her hardest to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Lysithea squeezed her hand back gratefully. 

Then she sat back and rubbed at her eyes, taking a shaky breath. “Sorry for the heaviness there.” She chuckled, sniffing back tears. “I really _am_ fine. I know things will be okay.”

“No, no, it’s good to hear! It’s a good reminder of why we’re working so hard.” Annette blinked suddenly, shaking her head. “Which - oh that reminds me, I’m sorry. We need more blood samples.” She grabbed the blood drawing equipment and held it up apologetically.

Lysithea rolled her eyes good-humoredly. “Having my blood drawn! Of course, nothing cheers me up more.” She held out her hand palm-up, smiling wryly at Annette. “Prick as many fingers as you need - just leave me the index finger to turn pages.”

Annette laughed. “Anything for you, Lysithea.”

*

Annette thought a lot about that conversation as she walked back to the classroom.

The sky was full of sunlight, heaps of puffy white clouds scudding slowly across the blue. A wyvern and a pegasus wheeled leisurely overhead - Annette could hear pieces of a distant conversation between their riders as they patrolled the airspace. She watched them circle the tower while she walked across the grounds. It was warm, for a spring day - much warmer than Fhirdiad, anyhow. Almost too warm.

_We’ll make sure you’ll be okay. Both of you._

Her shoes clicked against the old flagstones, the sound echoing down the open hallway. Her skin prickled in that familiar, antsy way - a feeling that said _go go go, do do do, quick quick quick._ Normally, that energy would drive her to pick up a new book, try to cook something, clean up the classroom…and certainly she _could_ run back to the classroom and start testing all the new blood samples. If it were a normal task, she probably would have. She’d dive in, head first, think later. But Annette felt a...hesitation, deep in her chest, butting up against the prickly need to _do._ This feeling was less familiar. She found it unsettling in a way that was hard to describe. She wagged her free hand while she walked to help relieve some of the tension, but the energy and the hesitation itched and sank into her bones, and bloomed into thoughts that ran circles in her mind.

_We’ll make sure you’ll be okay. Both of you._

_...Should I have said that?_

_Promised that?_

_Lysithea of all people despises false hope._

_But is it false hope?_ False _hope? Lysithea deserves hope, and Lysithea is going to be okay. Queen Byleth wouldn’t have asked us here if there wasn’t hope._

“That’s right.” She said aloud to herself, the sound of her voice making it real. “Queen Byleth asked us here. The Goddess’s chosen! If _she_ believes in us, then of course I believe in us!”

She pushed back the unsettled thoughts and feelings, squaring her shoulders against them in determination. Her voice grew louder as she spoke. “Queen Byleth brought us here, and Lysithea will be okay, and we are going to work our hardest to make it happen - _together!”_

She shouted the last word. It echoed wildly down the hall, sending a few curious sparrows scattering in a panic.

Annette breathed heavily, closing her eyes and smiling. As she listened to the echo of her voice still ringing - she heard a groan.

Puzzled, she peeked around the corner of the pillar on her left. On the other side of it, sitting on the grass with his back against the stone, was Linhardt. He rubbed his eyes, blinking sleepily at the sun, and then peered up at her with an expression like an annoyed cat.

“Oh! Linhardt.” Annette stepped out from behind the pillar. “I didn’t see you -”

“Were you always this extraordinarily loud, Annette?” He cut her off with a yawn. “For all the years we’ve known each other, I can’t recall.”

She flushed. “Hey, I was having a moment of inspiration! Those are always loud!”

“Really?” He shuffled down lower in the grass, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. “I guess I’ve never had one.”

Annette frowned at Linhardt, her hands on her hips and her toe tapping. The prickly _do something_ feeling was creeping back again - but thankfully no uncomfortable hesitation. Just annoyance. She moved to stand over Linhardt, casting her shadow over him. “What are you even doing here? We needed you in the lab earlier!”

“Sleeping, of course.” He cracked one eye open a slit, looking up at Annette through long eyelashes. “Attempting to.”

“Unbelievable.” Annette huffed and crossed her arms. “Don’t you know how important this work is?”

“Naturally I do.” He yawned again. “I’ve been working myself to exhaustion...see, I couldn’t even reach a nice tree before I had to take a nap.” He paused, then added, “Although the warm stone _was_ nice.”

Annette snorted. “Clearly.”

Her toe-tapping sped up. Linhardt, noting this, smiled broadly up at her. “You know, Annette, you really need to learn to relax. Too much stress isn’t healthy. It lowers your - ” he trailed into a wide yawn - “Haaw _-immune_ system…makes you more susceptible to illness.”

She raised an eyebrow, and nudged his foot with her own. “I think I _know_ how to relax, and I know when not to. If I recall from our school years, you clearly _still_ need to learn how to actually work.”

She looked down at him, sprawled out as he was, his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face. 

_We’ll make sure you’ll be okay._

Her toe-tapping stopped with a sudden _stamp._ “That’s it. Let’s go!”

He yawned again. “Go wh-whoAA -”

Linhardt was a good head taller than Annette when they were standing. This did nothing to deter Annette from grabbing his arm with both hands and hoisting him bodily to his feet. She clamped one of her arms around his arm like a vice, determined to throw him over her shoulder if need be, and started to march them both back in the direction of the lab. “I - am - going - to - inspire - you - to - work!” She puffed as she dragged him along.

Linhardt staggered along behind her, cocking his head in puzzled amusement. “You are?”

“I - am!” She paused for a moment, breathing heavily. “We need _all_ hands on deck if we’re going to save Lysithea.”

“Yes?”

She twisted her head to look up at him, fierce blue eyes shining as she pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “So I am going to inspire you to work harder than you ever have - or die trying!”

Linhardt blinked. “... _You_ die trying? Or do I die -”

“ _For_ _Lysithea!_ ” Annette belted it out like a war-cry, hoisted her grip higher on Linhardt’s arm, and marched with purpose back to the classroom - dragging a bemused Linhardt behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn rose slowly over the monastery, painting the old stone walls in soft pinks and deep blue shadows. The first of the morning’s birds were waking, stretching their wings, and twittering brightly from the treetops and buttresses. Down by the fishing pond, the abbey cats lazily eyed the fish jumping at sunbeams. In the stables, the horses shuffled and knickered softly, while Cyril loaded hay into their troughs by the armful. A servant was trying in vain to take over the task, but Cyril was the taller of the two, and he simply carried the hay with his arms stretched above his head.

Hanneman watched the servant try a third time to jump and take back the hay. He shook his head with a smile. He took a sip from a mug of warm tea before calling over the balcony, “Oh, let him handle it. I’m sure the Queen won’t mind.”

The servant looked helplessly between Hanneman and Cyril, who waved up at the old professor with a grateful nod. Hanneman nodded back, took another sip from his tea, and continued on his way towards the dining hall.

He liked to be the first one up in the mornings, when the monastery was quiet and he could set things up in the lab for the day. The air was clear and brisk - almost enough to see his breath. It rarely got colder than this in Garreg Mach in spring, even with the elevation. Hanneman watched the dawnlight cresting unhurriedly across the grounds and halls, casting blue shadows on the steam rising from his tea. How many times over the years had he enjoyed these sunrises? He couldn’t remember how the sun rose in Enbarr - and it was a struggle to even  _ see _ the sun in snow-choked Fhirdiad. But here... here was different.

“This place always was my home, more than any other.” He murmured to himself, looking out over the lawns fondly.

He was enjoying the tranquility, when suddenly Annette burst out from behind a pillar, sprinted across the lawn at full speed, and jumped into the hedges.

Hanneman stopped. He watched as Annette pushed the branches aside with both arms, burying her head in the leaves like a hound searching for a scent. She rooted around in the brush for a few moments, then straightened, scratching her head. Then she took off in the opposite direction, aiming for one of the old oak trees. She zigged around to the other side with a distant triumphant shout. There was a pause, and then she backed up, frowning. She circled the tree once, looking all around, before squaring her shoulders and running off towards the main hall.

When she had left the tree, Linhardt dropped out of the upper branches, sliding slowly down with his arms and legs wrapped around the trunk. He stood up, brushing leaves and bark from his clothes, and then jogged off in the opposite direction as Annette. As he passed he met Hanneman’s concerned and perplexed gaze, waved cheerfully, and continued on.

“What in Seiros’ name…?” Hanneman muttered.

“Ah, young love.” A hand tapped on his shoulder. “What are you drinking?”

Hanneman jumped. He whirled around to find Manuela, squinting at him over heavy-bagged eyes, wrapped in a long quilted cloak.  _ No, wait _ \- Hanneman realized it wasn’t actually a cloak. It was a bed-cover. 

“Ha! Manuela! You nearly made me jump out of my skin.” He chuckled nervously. “What did you ask - ? Oh, right.” He glanced down at his mug. “It’s - um - tea. Bergamot.”

“Good enough.” Manuela held out her hand. “May I?” She attempted to bat her eyelashes beseechingly, but it mostly looked like tired blinking. 

Hanneman wordlessly handed her his mug. She took a gulp, let out a steamy breath, and then gulped again before handing it back. “I have the worst hangover. Thanks.” She blinked again, this time gratefully.

“A hangover? Really, Manuela.” He frowned at her. “You’re still drinking like that?”

“Hey, one vice at a time, Hanneman. Right now I’ve got my hands full being more  _ polite  _ when I’m hungover.” She rubbed at her eyes and groaned softly.

They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched as Annette reappeared from the hall. She dashed over to the tree again, examined the leaves and bark chips at the base, looked up into the branches with narrowed eyes, and then made a bee-line in the direction Linhardt ran.

“Those two… You really think that’s what this is? Young love?” Hanneman wondered aloud.

“Hm?” Manuela glanced up at him from one eye, then chuckled. “Oh, no, I was just making a joke. Sorry, I fear my jokes land poorly when I’m...like this. No, no, I talked to Annette yesterday - she’s been waking Linhardt up in the mornings lately, making sure he actually comes into the lab to work, that sort of thing.”

Hanneman  _ had  _ noticed Linhardt being present in the lab more often than usual. “But why the…” He gestured at the tree where Linhardt had been hiding, that Annette had just investigated. “What are they doing, hide and seek?”

Manuela snorted, grinning. “More like a manhunt. Since Annette’s started waking him up and dragging him to the classroom, Linhardt’s been getting more... _ creative  _ with where he sleeps, to try and avoid her.” She stifled a laugh. “Yesterday I found him wedged into a vegetable crate behind the kitchens - he almost got away too, before Annette showed up and beaned him with a turnip.”

In the distance they heard the crash and clatter of falling boxes, some muffled shouts, and a cat yowling. A moment later Linhardt came sprinting back up the lawn, clasping a very miffed orange tabby cat in his arms. And after another moment came Annette in hot pursuit, pulling splinters out of her hair. Manuela and Hanneman watched them both take off in the direction of the dining hall, and Hanneman took a long sip of his tea.

“Those two are polar opposites, aren’t they.” chuckled Manuela. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe they  _ will  _ end up together - they say opposites attract, after all.”

“A morning game of  _ manhunt  _ hardly seems like good grounds for a courtship.” Hanneman snorted. “And if opposites attracted, you and I would have wed  _ years  _ ago.”

Manuela elbowed him hard in the side. “You  _ wish _ .”

*

Annette finally slouched over, palms bracing on her knees, gasping for breath. She swore softly. “For being someone...who hates to work…how does he run... _ so  _ fast…?” she wheezed, gulping for air.

She’d lost him somewhere between the front gates and the classrooms. Maybe he outran her - or possibly ducked out of sight at some point. Turned a clever corner, possibly. Or maybe he absconded from the monastery entirely - taking off into the woods. Annette plopped down on the top stair of the entrance hall, leaning against the balustrade while she caught her breath. 

She heard a booming voice coming from the dining hall. “I’m  _ telling  _ you - I’ve never  _ seen  _ bacon this thick! It’s practically the whole pig! I can’t believe you don’t want to try any!”

A familiar high, proper-sounding voice answered in exasperation, “The  _ size  _ of the food does little to inspire my enthusiasm, when you are currently flinging it about like a grease-soaked flail!”

Out of the dining hall walked Constance and Balthus. Constance had her hair pinned up in a bun today, and she was carrying a pastry carefully wrapped in a napkin. Tall, shaggy-haired Balthus walked beside her, two plates of bacon and eggs clasped in one arm while he waved a spare piece around with his other hand. He took a big bite of the bacon strip in his free hand, rolling his eyes up in contentment. “I  _ swar  _ ‘oo godda ry did ‘Onsans. Kange ‘oor  _ wife. _ ” He opened his eyes, suddenly noticing Annette on the stairs, and waved the bacon at her emphatically. “ _ Aah-ette!  _ ‘Ell ‘Onsans oo ry da  _ racon!” _

“Pay the greasy barbarian  _ no  _ mind, Annette.” Constance countered, wrinkling her nose in disgust at Balthus. “ _ Really,  _ you can behave as such in front of  _ me  _ but when you act that way in front of  _ others -  _ !” She paused, noticing how out of breath Annette was. “Wait, has something happened? Are you alright Annette?”

Annette grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just - trying to get Linhardt to the lab for the day! You haven’t seen him, have you?” She pointed down the entry hall towards the gates. “Last I saw him he was running in  _ that  _ direction. Possibly carrying a cat. Long story.”

“You were  _ chasing  _ him? Again?” Constance frowned in concern. “I am all in favor of the man pulling his  _ weight  _ in our endeavor but isn’t this -”

She was interrupted by Balthus throwing the full weight of his arm across her shoulders, nearly knocking the air from her lungs. His eyes shone in excitement. “A  _ chase!”  _ He boomed. “I like your style Annie! Run him down, give him a good thrashing, drag him back home. All this scholar work makes my head spin, but THAT I can get behind! Let’s go!” He straightened, grabbed a fistful of bacon, and then pushed his plates into a startled Constance’s arms. “The Rapid-fire King of Grappling’ll find him and bring him back before you can say Go! ...GO!”

And with that he took off, diving down the steps two at a time, grinning from ear to ear.

Annette and Constance gaped after him. Finally Constance shook her head and plopped his abandoned breakfast down on the top step. “Every  _ day  _ with this.” She muttered. She glanced at Annette remorsefully. “I apologize on his behalf. Don’t fear, I’ll help look for Linhardt too - I’ll check the halls and dorms. Hopefully you or I can find him before Balthus does. Or at least quick enough to halt any beatings Balthus feels like dispensing.”

Annette nodded thankfully.

*

Constance hurried off towards the rows of dorm rooms. Balthus bolted to the marketplace first, but got held up in an argument with the blacksmith when she wouldn’t let him search her slag bin. Annette circled around the stables, before hiking up to the top of the wall to get a better look around.

She rested her folded arms on the battlements, looking out over the forests and countryside that surrounded Garreg Mach.  _ He wouldn’t really run off outside the monastery, right?  _ She imagined him dashing through the woods - probably leaping over a stream with a herd of wild deer. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.  _ He’d certainly be happy to live as a deer. No responsibilities. Although maybe he’d prefer an old drafthorse put to pasture - just eating grass and sleeping all day. Maybe if he put in some effort, he could find a spell to turn himself into a horse. I wonder, if he were a horse - would his hide be green or just his mane? What parts of a horse count for the hair, specifically? Would he still wear clothes, but horse-sized? Or would he have a saddle and blanket in that teal color he likes…? _

She absent-mindedly pondered the logistics of horse-Linhardt while she swept her gaze across the fields and woods - and then stopped. She leaned over the wall to get a better look, peering intently at a thicket growing just outside the front gate.

Poking out from underneath the leaves and briars was an unmistakable pair of legs.

Annette leaned back and blew the air from her cheeks. “Oh, Linhardt.”

The legs didn’t move as Annette tried to sneak up on them - even when she accidentally tripped over a rack of quarterstaffs set up by the gate, sending them clattering across the flagstones. So Annette stopped trying to sneak and walked right up to the thicket. “Tired of running, Linhardt?” She asked, nudging him with her foot.

His foot twitched, and his mournful voice filtered up through the leaves. “Can’t you just let me take a break? All that running has wiped me out.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” He kicked her foot lightly. “I think that’s obvious.”

Annette sighed heavily. “Look, do you think I  _ like  _ chasing you down like this every day?”

“From the context, I have to assume that you do. Considering it still keeps happening.”

She grimaced, frustrated. “It doesn’t have to keep happening like  _ this.  _ I’m tired too you know! Why does it have to be such an ordeal every morning? Don’t you  _ want  _ to help Lysithea? ”

There was no answer. She looked away with a sigh. 

It was quiet for a moment, while Annette looked off in the distance and Linhardt’s feet tapped the air thoughtfully. Finally Linhardt spoke. “Do you know my favorite color?”

She looked at the bushes, confused. “...What?”

“You could join me under here if you’re tired. It’s a lovely spot for a nap.”

Annette stared. She was still trying to sort through the color question - Linhardt was acting even odder than usual - but when she processed his invitation, a blush sprang up her cheeks. “I - no, no, I’m not going to crawl under a bush. With you.” She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and blew a breath out through her nose. “Linhardt...Can’t you just do this for me?”

A bird tweeted overhead while she sighed. Then the thicket rustled loudly, scattering leaves and twigs, as Linhardt stood up in the middle of it. He nonchalantly picked thorns out of his hair, stepped carefully out of the brush, and then turned to her. “For you, Annette?” His smile crinkled the corners of his sea-blue eyes. “Anytime.”

Then he patted her twice on the top of the head, and strolled back towards the gates.

Annette stared after him, floored. She watched the back of his head for a split moment, stunned frozen - and then her back snapped straight, her face flushed bright red, and she cried out incredulously, “What do you MEAN _anytime?!_ What about EVERY MORNING for the past TWO WEEKS?! WHAT WAS DIFFERENT _TODAY?!”_

Linhardt acted as if he didn’t hear her. He leaned his head back, calling airily over his shoulder, “I call not-handling-the-blood-samples for today - you know how I feel about blood. You’d better hurry too or  _ you’ll _ get stuck with it.”

She ran to catch up to him, steam practically curling from her ears. But when she looked up at his face - calm, framed in his long dark hair, with that enigmatic smile… she couldn’t help but melt. She looked away to hide her smile, shaking her head ruefully. “You are  _ impossible. _ ” She grumbled, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Linhardt’s smile only widened. “I  _ have _ been called that before.”

Annette scratched the back of her head, glancing back at the bramble bush. “You know? Me finding you under a bush, waking you up… you saying the weirdest things and getting me all flustered…” She snorted. “Feels just like old times, doesn’t it?”

“I can see the similarities, yes.” Linhardt looked up at the sky. “I believe you were telling me something about helping others back then as well, if you want to add to the comparisons.”

Annette glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Maybe this time some of it will...stick?” She prompted hopefully.

He glanced back at her. “About as much as it did the last time, I’d expect.”

“If that’s your roundabout way of saying I’ll need to chase you again tomorrow…”

Linhardt only smiled back, and Annette groaned.


	4. Chapter 4

Annette bounced into the lab in the morning, humming a song she’d written that morning about pancakes. Then she looked at Linhardt’s desk - and her shoulders sagged.

Constance patted her shoulder sympathetically as she squeezed past her. “You musn’t take it so personally when he doesn’t appear, Annette.” 

Annette drew her fingers through her hair, sighing. “I know, I know. I just…” She searched for the words as she nudged her chair back from her desk, flopping down. “The last time we really  _ talked  _ about it, he seemed like he was actually going to start coming every day!”

Constance smiled at her - the kind of wincing smile one makes at someone who has just said something adorably dumb. “I think the error lies on  _ you,  _ for taking the word of  _ Linhardt  _ at face value. Not that he is - deceitful! At least not intentionally!” She added quickly. “It just seems difficult to divine the true meaning of his intentions at times.”

“I know that. I know what he’s like.” Annette mumbled. She glared at the sheets of paper strewn across her desk, scribbled with spell notations and crossed-out ideas. Many crossed-out ideas.

It had been a week or two since she last chased Linhardt down. The day after they’d talked outside the gates, he had woken up when she knocked on his door and accompanied her to work without incident. The day after he’d even arrived at the lab before she had. But as the days went on, as always, Linhardt started to be absent more and more. She would still drop by his room to wake him up each morning - although she doubted he was actually sleeping in his quarters much. But Annette didn’t go hunting for him around the monastery anymore. She couldn’t help but hold out hope he would come to work on his own.

_ Why am I holding out hope?  _ She asked herself, frowning.  _ I know what he’s like, after all. So why do I keep hoping he’ll be here in the morning? Why am I hurt when he doesn’t? _

She glanced up at his desk, at the Linhardt-shaped spot amongst the papers and books.

_ For you, Annette? Anytime.  _ A smile, below eyes like the ocean.

She rubbed her face irritably and sighed.

A few quiet minutes passed as she readied blood-testing equipment and Constance sorted through their itinerary. “Speaking of absent people,” Annette looked over at the desk at the far end of the room, “Do you know if Professor Hanneman is running late?”

“I’m not aware.” Constance was absorbed in writing out the spells for the day, cross-checking against a tome as big as a paver’s block. “He did not mention any expected tardiness - but then again I hear he has been helping Manuela with some of her duties? So he might be - “

Suddenly they heard the staccato of running footsteps, rapidly approaching the classroom. Annette and Constance barely had time to register, glancing towards the door - expecting Hanneman, or Linhardt perhaps - but it was Cyril. He skidded into the archway, chest heaving and face stricken with terror, and gasped -

“ _ Lysithea  _ \- blood - not moving -  _ help!” _

Without thinking, Annette and Constance dove from their chairs, racing after Cyril as he turned and ran towards the infirmary.

As they ran Constance grabbed Cyril’s arm. “What do you know is happening? Where is Manuela?”

Cyril choked out, “I don’t - Manuela wasn’t there, I don’t know - I found Lysithea she was - was -  _ blood  _ \- coughing blood - stopped responding - All I could think - was you guys - ! Please help her!”

They ran as fast as they could. It was a journey of mere minutes - but it felt like time itself had ground to a halt. 

Annette felt like she was being strangled. Her chest had never felt tighter, her breath had never come shallower - like a great block of stone was on top of her, crushing her slowly to dust, and her whole body was bound too tight to scream. Even in her worst panic attacks, she had never felt like this. She ran and ran, and all she could think of was Lysithea - Lysithea and her books, Lysithea and her sarcasm, Lysithea and the absolute unthinkable too awful to bear. Annette’s mind circled that unthinkable thought like a wolf around a fire, flinching away from it, unable to abandon it.

Lysithea, her friend. Gone. 

Too late. Not enough. 

Their fault.

Her fault.

Cyril threw open the infirmary doors and they rushed to the bedside, sending book piles scattering. Annette got one good look at Lysithea lying there - her face chalk-white, red blood on her chin - before everything became a blur. Later, Annette would recall the events as unbound points in time, without order - just an adrenaline-fueled haze of desperate action. Checking for vitals. Constance performing mouth to mouth resuscitation, Annette casting white magic in support. Manuela and Hanneman rushing in to help. Shouts ringing dimly through the air. Cyril’s face. Lysithea’s limp body. Whether it lasted a minute, an hour, a day, or a heartbeat, Annette couldn’t tell. It might as well have been an eternity.

And then Lysithea breathed. 

With Lysithea’s breath, it felt like all of reality released a breath it had been holding. Constance deflated in relief. Manuela slumped back on a chair, Hanneman leaning on her shoulder. Annette slid down the wall until she sat on the floor, leaning her head back against the wall. Cyril sat next to his wife, clutching her hand.

It was Manuela who broke the infinite silence of that moment. “She’s out of danger, for now.” Her voice was thick with relief and guilt. “I had noticed she was having trouble with her breathing, but she’d been doing so well otherwise I - I’ve been careless. I should have been here.”

“Now, now.” Hanneman patted her shoulder. His monocle was missing - he looked oddly vulnerable without it. “No need to assign blame. What’s important is that she is okay.” He turned to Cyril. “You did very well lad, to get help so quickly. And you two,” he looked first at Constance and then at Annette, smiling in tired pride, “Your swiftness to help most certainly saved Lysithea’s life.”

Constance nodded her head, for once without words. Annette nodded distantly. Her eyes were glassy - staring off into space. Cyril didn’t respond at all - he just watched Lysithea’s face, staring at the rise and fall of her chest as if afraid it would stop again.

Hanneman’s brow furrowed. He exchanged a few quiet words with Manuela, who smiled wearily and patted his hand in assurance. “I think…” he said, standing up a little straighter, “The time we might spend working today, would be better spent resting. Manuela and I will look after Lysithea. Constance, Annette, you go back to your rooms to lie down. Cyril…” He hesitated. “I’d like you to rest too, but I understand if you don’t want to leave Lysithea’s side yet. We can pull out one of the other infirmary beds for you to rest on.”

Cyril looked up at Hanneman and nodded gratefully. Constance mutely turned and hobbled out, clutching her arms to herself. It took a few moments more for Annette to muster the strength to stand. She walked slowly, dragging her feet, and the heavy infirmary door squeaked on its hinges as it closed behind her.

Annette felt...heavy, as she walked back through the echoey hallways. Her body felt like the ground was pulling on it, dragging her down. And yet at the same time she felt hollow, drained out and empty, like a corn husk - as if a stiff breeze could snatch her away. Her mind was too exhausted to run, too overwhelmed to be overwhelmed. Muted. 

She realized her hands were trembling. 

“Annette? What’s wrong?”

Slowly, she looked up. 

Coming towards her, head tilted slightly and face creased in concern, was  _ him _ .

Her mind started to wake up again, whirring slowly to life - like a horde of insects just starting to rumble.

“Where were you.” She said it so softly it barely left her lips. She turned her face to her shoes.

Linhardt stopped in front of her. He didn’t seem to hear her. He continued, his voice lilting and puzzled. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Or a demonic beast. Or - a demonic beast ghost.”

She willed her hands to stop shaking. They didn’t.

“Where were you.” She said it again. Not a question - an accusation.

This time Linhardt heard. “Here and there,” He replied after a pause. “I finished getting some sleep, so I was on my way to - “

“Where. Were. You.” Her voice rose in strength. She lifted her face to meet his gaze. Ocean-colored azure met rumbling, thunderous,  _ furious _ blue. 

He blinked, startled. “I -”

“Where  _ were  _ you? Where were you when we needed you? When  _ Lysithea _ needed you? She - she - she almost died today! She almost died! And it was up to me and Constance to save her, to resuscitate her - she - she was  _ gone!  _ I saw her lying there, she was  _ gone!  _ Somehow we managed to pull her back but it was close - it was so close - it was - it was - “ She squeezed her eyes shut against tears, slamming her clenched fists to her forehead. “You were  _ supposed  _ to be there - you were supposed to be at the lab when we were, when Cyril ran for help you should have been with us! You could have helped - you should have helped!” She tore her fists from her forehead, eyes snapping open, glaring at him through bleary tear-filled eyes. “But you  _ weren’t!  _ And Lysithea could have died! She didn’t - no thanks to you - but what if it was closer? What if it took one more person? What if Lysithea  _ died  _ because you weren’t there?!”

Linhardt stared at her as she raged. His face was smooth. Calm. Unreadable. And this made Annette even angrier. All of the tension that had been wound up in her body, all of the fear and stress and adrenaline, came pouring out like a flood.

“Don’t you care even the tiniest bit about Lysithea? Don’t you care about anything?! You’ve always been so - so - so  _ insufferable,  _ just doing whatever was convenient for you without caring even the slightest about anyone around you! You sleep when you want and you run when you want and the whole world could drop dead around you and you wouldn’t  _ care!  _ You wouldn’t even think to care - unless it inconveniences _you!”_ She let out a scream through her teeth. “I have tried for years and years and  _ years  _ with you - but I can’t - I can’t - I don’t know how to explain to you how you should care about people other than yourself! About others’ needs before your own! Goddess knows I’ve tried - I’ve tried - and I don’t know why I keep trying, what it is in you that keeps suckering me back in and convincing me you’ll change. You don’t change. You haven’t changed in ten years and I’m sick of believing you’ll change now, when clearly all you care about is _yourself!”_

She spat the last word, taking a few shuddering breaths, staring at him.

Linhardt was silent for a long moment.

Then he spoke, in a soft, impassive voice. “Are you finished?”

Annette stared at him in utter disbelief. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose.  Then she shoved past him, storming away down the hall, the air crackling in her wake.


	5. Chapter 5

It was lucky that the greenhouse needed a little weeding done. Lucky as well that one of the servants had left a trowel. Luckier still that the trowel wasn’t sharp enough to stab anything but dirt. All very lucky indeed, allowing Annette to repeatedly stab the soil and weeds - instead of Linhardt.

 _Not that I would ever_ actually _stab him. Probably._ She thought, hacking at a particularly thick root. _Eh. I know healing magic._

She had already cried quite a bit - both out of anger towards Linhardt, and relief towards Lysithea. She cried over the flowers in the greenhouse until her head throbbed. And when she had no tears left to cry, she started weeding - to apologize to the flowers for crying on them. 

She set the trowel down, wrapped both hands around the weed, and threw her weight backwards. There was a creak, a splintering crack - and the roots finally broke, sending Annette staggering backwards, dirt-crusted plant in hand. She sat down heavily, glanced in dull interest at the weed, and then tossed it on the pile with a sigh. She leaned back against a potted plant, drew her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her arms.

“Stupid heartless Linhardt.” She muttered. 

A few sparrows who’d found their way into the greenhouse fluttered about the rafters. It was pleasantly warm, the sun glowing through the glass roof and tinting everything in gold. The air smelled like turned earth and flowers, thick and heady with the scent of it. It was a comforting smell - a smell that brought back warm memories. Annette looked over her arms at the familiar stones and flowerbeds, remembering. Singing silly songs, and then shouting at Felix for eavesdropping. Helping Professor Manuela and Marianne gather vegetables for the kitchens. Planting Duscur blossoms in the shade of the ferns with Ashe and Dedue, while Dedue’s quiet voice described the lands they came from. Stories blooming on the warmed air.

The frustration and anger drained out of Annette’s body, leaving her feeling exhausted and hollow again. Even more than before. She put her head in her arms again, heaving another deep sigh. _I could almost fall asleep here, like this. Maybe that’s why I kept finding Linhardt sleeping in weird places._

Shoes clicking on stones - she heard someone walk into the greenhouse. Without looking up she shuffled closer into the shade of the potted fern, hoping she’d be beyond notice in the corner. She certainly didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. The footsteps drew closer, then stopped.

“Doing some weeding, Annette? Mind if I join?”

The voice was familiar, but Annette was too tired to place it. “Sorry, I had just finished…” she lifted her head slowly, “But you can take the trowel if you -” She stopped, mouth hanging open slightly.

Looking down at her was a smiling face she knew well - somehow both young and old, naive and yet wise, long tousled hair the color of sea foam and piercing green eyes no soul could hide from. Her old teacher - and the current ruling monarch of all Fodlan.

Annette scrambled to her feet. “P-Professor! I mean - Queen Byleth! Your majesty! Ma’am?” She half-bowed, half-curtsied, and flushed red in embarrassment.

Byleth, who to her had been mentor, friend, general, hero, and queen, snorted a laugh. “Please, don’t call me your majesty.” She smiled widely, eyes sparkling in good humour. “I get enough ‘your majesties’ and ‘ma’ams’ every day - call me by my name, or by Professor. Being called Professor was always my favorite title, by far.”

Annette relaxed. Byleth still had the uncanny ability to make people feel at ease, just as she did back when they were teacher and student. “Alright. Professor.” She smiled back. “If you don’t mind me asking - um - what are you doing in the greenhouse?”

“Hiding from Seteth.” Byleth said, straight-faced. 

Annette had to stifle her laugh, grinning. “O-oh?”

Byleth nodded. “I’m not even kidding. He scheduled _three_ meetings about export tariffs today, and one of them is with the old Count Gloucester - the annoying one. Not Lorenz.” She rubbed her temples and sighed wearily. “I try not to sneak away - as much as I can bear, anyhow. But when all the administrative duties of ruling Fodlan become too much, I like to come here for at least a small reprieve. Or I go to the training grounds to beat up some training dummies. Depends on the type of reprieve I need.”

Annette giggled. Byleth studied her face, smiling. Then she glanced at the pile of uprooted weeds. “Looks like you needed a reprieve as well.” She paused, then added softly, “I heard that Lysithea had a close call this morning. How is she?”

Annette’s smile faded, her shoulders sagging. “She’s...well, she’s fine now. Manuela and Constance managed to get her stable.”

“That’s good. And you?” Her old mentor tilted her head, looking at her with gentle concern. “How are _you,_ Annette?”

“I…” Annette started to speak, stopped, and then looked at her shoes. “It’s been a rough day all around. Not just with Lysithea, with - I mean - nevermind.”

“What?”

Annette shuffled her shoes. “It’s nothing.”

Byleth paused thoughtfully, then asked carefully, “Would it help to _talk_ about it?”

Annette looked away, biting her lip. “I - I don’t want to talk bad about anyone to you. You’re the queen, and our old professor…and you’ve got so much on your plate...”

Byleth raised an eyebrow. Then she sat down on the flowerbed wall, patting a spot next to her. “I have an _exceptionally_ large plate. There’s plenty of room on it for an old student, and even more room for an old friend.” Byleth’s expression was as warm and inviting as the flower-steeped greenhouse air.

Annette hesitated for just a moment. Then she sat down with a sigh. “Everything is so stressful with Lysithea and trying to find her cure - I mean, the stakes are so high it’s...overwhelming. But that doesn’t bother me so much, because it’s not just my burden. Hanneman and Constance feel it too, and sharing in that is - well, it’s helpful, to not feel alone in it. If it were _just_ that, it would be bearable. But it’s - well - it’s Linhardt.”

“Linhardt?”

“ _Linhardt._ ” Annette rolled her eyes. “He is driving me absolutely _crazy._ ”

“Really?” Byleth rested her chin in her cupped hand, listening intently. “And why is Linhardt driving you crazy?”

Annette threw up her hands. “He won’t _work!_ No matter what I do or say, even with stakes this high. I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried helping him wake up, I’ve tried tough love and dragging him to the lab… but he just doesn’t care.” She dragged a hand down her face and sighed. “I actually blew up at him a little bit ago, which I feel bad about, but I also feel like it was justified? It’s all so muddled. He just - he has so much talent, so much he could _give,_ and I keep believing he has it in him to care. So I end up going back, trying to teach him how to work, and every time he seems like he’s gonna change. And then doesn’t.” 

Byleth nodded sympathetically. “That sounds very frustrating.”

“It _is!_ ” Annette groaned. “I guess I keep setting myself up for disappointment that way.” She propped her chin up in both hands, elbows on her knees. She glanced sideways at Byleth, who looked deep in thought. “What was it like trying to teach him? Back in the day?”

Byleth leaned back on her palms, pondering the question for a moment. Then she replied thoughtfully, “I suppose he was about the same, at first. I’d get very frustrated when he didn’t show up to class, or when he slept through a lecture.”

Annette sat up eagerly. “Exactly! It’s like he didn’t even value your time or what you were doing!” 

Byleth paused. She gave Annette a firm glance, raising an eyebrow. Annette’s mouth snapped shut. “Sorry for interrupting.” She squeaked. “Please, go on Professor.”

Byleth’s face smoothed into a smile. Then she continued, “It was difficult at first. _But_ then I spent more time with him, getting to know him. I realized I was frustrated because I didn’t understand him. As I grew to understand him, I learned to reach him in the ways he needed.”

She looked away, eyes watching distant memories. “It turns out, he was never a bad student, really. He wasn’t even a lazy one. He just needed different things.”

The words hung in the air as Byleth fell silent. A bird flitted down to the pile of weeds, pecking at it curiously. Byleth and Annette watched as a few more birds joined it, hopping and dancing around each other, inspecting the pile for anything tasty. They chittered brightly, and scattered with a flurry of wings when Annette finally huffed.

She gave Byleth a sideways look. “You’re trying to teach me something, aren’t you.”

Byleth grinned. “Old habits die hard.” She cocked her head. “Do you understand what I’m saying, though?”

Annette rubbed her face with both hands, sighing. “I think…? I mean, I guess I’ve been pushing Linhardt pretty hard, without really trying to get his perspective…? Right?” She looked up questioningly at Byleth.

The queen snorted again. “It’s not a test, Annette.” She gave her a gentle pat on the back. “Just try to be more patient with Linhardt, and with yourself. I think it’ll be easier on the both of you.”

“I suppose.” Annette grimaced, unconvinced. “I guess I should apologize to him...ugh. I don’t know if I have that in me yet.”

Byleth stood up from the flowerbed wall, dusting specks of dirt from her dress. She held out her hand to help Annette to her feet, the sunlight forming a halo behind her head. “An apology, sure. But it would be understandable to wait until you’ve had some rest - you _have_ had a very long morning.” 

*

Annette nearly didn’t make it back to her room before falling asleep. Byleth was right - the stress and havoc of the day had finally caught up to her, and she passed out for a nap the moment her head hit her pillow.

The noon sun dropped in the sky as she snored. Before long it sat low and red on the horizon, wrapped in a blanket of purple clouds. The bustling monastery grew quiet. The friendly gatekeeper waved farewell to the merchant wagons as they headed home for the night, and the shadows grew long across the mountainside.

The first stars were just starting to peek through the twilight when Annette startled awake, yawning blearily.

She glanced outside her window, frowning at the dusky blue sky. _Goddess. I slept the day away. Guess I needed it, after everything…_ She sat up with a wide yawn. _Might as well just go to bed for real at this point._

She climbed creakily out of bed, changed into her nightclothes, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then she crawled under her blankets again, wrapped them snugly around her shoulders and burrowed her face into her pillow. Annette lay there, eyes closed, comfortably snuggled in her blankets, and waited to fall asleep again.

She waited. After awhile she turned onto her other side. Then turned back again. Then rolled onto her stomach. And then rolled all the way around onto her back gain. She kicked one leg out from under the bed-cover - then kicked the bed-cover off of her entirely.

“Ugh.” She muttered aloud. “How is anyone supposed to fall asleep after napping the whole day? I wonder how on earth Linhardt manages it…”

She threw an arm over her face and squeezed her eyes shut. She tried counting sheep, counting backwards from one hundred, any variety of counting. She fluffed her pillow, spun her sleeping position around so many times she got tangled in her sheets, even contemplated running down to the kitchen to warm up some milk. Still the night wore on, heedless to her struggle.

The moon was high in the sky by the time Annette accepted that she wasn’t falling asleep any time soon. She sat in her bed, knees drawn to her chest, scowling at her rumpled bed-cover as if it were to blame. “Napping is the _worst!_ ” She grumbled softly. “What am I gonna do now? I can’t just lie here, _not_ sleeping.”

She threw herself back on the bed, searching the ceiling rafters for inspiration. _I could go get a snack? Oh, but eating this late at night will give me indigestion for sure. I could tidy my room - but I bet I’d knock something over, and I don’t want to wake anyone up. I guess I could light a candle and get some reading done… ugh, but I haven’t grabbed any new books in weeks. Been too busy working._

She blinked, eyebrows arched. _Working. That’s it. I could sneak down to the lab. I couldn’t run any tests on blood samples, since we didn’t get any from Lysithea today… but I could make a neater copy of the other day’s notes for our record, or write out the full list of spells to try for tomorrow._ She sat up, the thought cheering her considerably. _That’ll do! I can work for a few hours, see if that tires me out. And if it doesn’t, well, I can power through any tiredness tomorrow until bed time, and reset my internal clock again. And either way, I’ll be productive! Perfect!_

She hurriedly slid out of bed, pulled her shoes on her feet and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She carefully lit a candle, eased her door open so the hinges wouldn’t squeak, and slipped out into the night.

The monastery felt different at night. Annette’s candle cast a shallow pool of golden light around her, chasing deep, dark shadows against the old stone walls. They towered over her, black as pitch against the indigo sky. Like sleeping titans hunched across the old hallways. The sound of her steps echoed so loudly it made her hair stand on end, no matter how quietly she tried to walk. She swallowed nervously, quickened her pace, and tried very hard not to remember the ghost stories Mercedes used to tell.

She nearly sprinted to the classroom door, whipping it open as quickly as she dared. Only when the latch clicked shut behind her did she breathe a sigh of relief.

“It’s fine. It’s fine!” She whispered to herself with a breathy giggle. “It’s just quiet and weird and dark. But safe. Perfectly safe. And now I can get some work done.” 

She turned around, the candlelight streaking across books and desks. “There’s nothing to be afraid o-oOAA-!” She slapped her hand across her mouth, stifling a shriek, as the light hit the edge of a humanoid shape.

For a terrifying moment Annette believed every single ghost story Mercedes had ever told her, and was 100% certain she was about to meet a grisly supernatural fate. But after a half-second of pure terror, she lifted the candle higher and saw the shape was - Linhardt’s boots. They were peeking out from behind his desk.

Her shoulders sagged in relief, and her hand slid from her mouth to her chest, as if to manually soothe her still hammering heart. “ _Linhardt!_ ” She gasped hoarsely. “You - _you scared me half to death. I thought you were a ghost!”_

The boots didn’t respond, and Annette rubbed at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, taking deep breaths to calm down. _Of course it’s Linhardt and not a ghost. It’s_ always _Linhardt and not a ghost._ “What are you doing here, this late at night?” She hissed at him quietly. “I’m sure there are comfier places to sleep than -”

She stopped, suddenly remembering her talk with Byleth. A rush of guilt filled her stomach. She sighed, scratching the back of her head and looking away sheepishly. “I...sorry. I shouldn’t be short with you. And…” she shuffled her feet, “I’m sorry about earlier too. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”

Linhardt said nothing. Annette’s ears burned. She edged closer to his desk, biting her lip. “I guess I was just venting my frustration on you, with everything going on with Lysithea… but that’s not fair. And I talked to the Professor afterwards - you know, Professor Byleth? - and she said I should be more patient, which is true. So I’m sorry for...not having the best approach, in my ‘inspiring’ you to work.”

She paused, listening for a reply, but was met with silence. “Not even a quip…?” She walked around the corner of his desk, tapping his foot with her own. “Linhardt, are you really that mad at...me…” Her voice trailed off. 

Linhardt’s foot flopped over. Annette lifted the candle higher. The circle of light crept up a prone Linhardt, swept up his strangely pale face, shone on his dark hair - spread across the floorboards like a shadowy halo.

“Linhardt?”

Something on the floor gleamed dark and red. And then the candlelight caught his limp hand - glistening scarlet with blood.

Annette screamed.

_“ Linhardt!”_


	6. Chapter 6

In an unusual twist of fate, it was Manuela helping a drunken Hanneman get home that night - instead of the other way around. She was in the middle of trying to heave him onto his bed when she heard the scream. 

Without thinking she dropped his legs with a thump, leaving him draped halfway across the bed and sliding onto the floor. She moved to leave then hesitated - looking between him and the door - before finally shrugging and grabbing the lantern. As she hurried out, Hanneman burbled a farewell to the nice angel. Followed by a loud snore.

When Manuela threw open the classroom door, her lantern flooded the room with light. In a glance she took in the situation - Linhardt, on the floor. Annette kneeling beside him, frantically searching for a pulse on his arm. Trampled paper, shattered glass, and blood. 

She set the lantern on the desk and crouched down. “Okay, what happened? Oh, Annette dear, you can’t get a pulse from that side of the arm…”

Annette let her take Linhardt’s arm from her, fumbling in her panic. “Sorry sorry sorry -” She babbled, “I couldn’t sleep so I came down to work some but then I found Linhardt here like this and I tried to apologize but he didn’t respond and then I saw  _ blood  _ and I don’t know what happened he was like this when I got here and is he going to be  _ okay? _ ”

“Slow down, Annette, it’s okay!” Manuela threw her a reassuring look. “Calm down, I’m here. We’ll figure this out.”

Annette nodded, hiccuping between shaky breaths.

Manuela checked Linhardt’s wrist for a heartbeat. Then she examined his hand, the palm and fingers stained with blood, and gave the rest of him a quick lookover. Finally she smoothed the hair out of his face, sat back on her knees, and sighed. “Okay, he’s going to be fine. His pulse is normal - he seems to have passed out. All I can find is a cut on his hand that looks a little deep...probably from all this broken glass. I can clean and bandage his hand and get him to bed, and I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure nothing else happens.” She shook her head and chuckled, rubbing at her eyes wearily. “It’s never a dull night with this one, huh?”

She dug around in her pockets for a spare bandage, while Annette wrung her hands anxiously. “Should - do you need help getting him back to his room? I can help carry him, or…”

Manuela shook her head as she tended to Linhardt’s hand. “Thank you Annette, but I can handle it.” She finished the bandage, got to her feet, and then hefted Linhardt up and onto her back in a piggyback ride. She did so with the fluid ease of someone who’s done this sort of thing many, many times. She adjusted his weight a little higher on her shoulders, and chuckled to herself again. “Two in one night, I can hardly believe it.”

She glanced at Annette, who was still sitting forlornly in the mess of blood and glass. Manuela’s face softened. “If you’d really like to help dear, why don’t you clean up this mess?” She asked gently. “I’d hate for Hanneman to see it in the morning.”

“O-oh! Of course. I can do that.” Annette bobbed her head like an anxious chicken. Manuela waved gratefully, and staggered outside, Linhardt in tow.

The door clicked shut behind her. Manuela had forgotten the lantern, and its flickering light glowed warmly across the lab. For a few moments Annette just sat, breathing through her nose, staring emptily at the fluttering shadows. 

She touched her fingers to her face - it was wet. She’d been crying again. She hadn’t noticed.  _ Just...one thing after another today. One thing after another. _ She dried her face on the collar of her nightgown, letting out a shaky sigh. 

Slowly, hesitantly, she started picking up bits of glass, depositing them on a spare parchment sheet.  _ Looks like it was an empty sample vial.  _ When she’d gathered most of the glass, she got stiffly to her feet to find a rag for the rest. Thankfully Constance had left one on her desk, and so Annette got onto her hands and knees, scrubbing at the blood and glass specks.

When she made her way behind Linhardt’s desk, she made sure to check the space underneath it for any extra glass and blood. She shifted a pile of books over to look - and stopped, staring.

“What…?”

From underneath the desk she pulled a neatly-bound stack of papers, nearly as tall as her hip when standing. By the soft lantern-light, she flipped through the pages, one by one.

*

It was morning, and Linhardt awoke in his bed.

He should have been more surprised when he woke up there. Considering that was  _ not  _ where he recalled falling asleep. But it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in one place and awoken in another, and as such any strangeness was lost on him.

He stretched luxuriously, arching his back against the bed. Then he cracked open his eyes, wincing against the blinding sunlight streaming in from the window. He groaned.  _ That’s odd.  _ “Who opened my curtains…?”

A shadow leaned over him, and a voice that was  _ far  _ too loud for this hour of the morning replied, “That would be me. Good morning, Linhardt!”

Linhardt blinked owlishly up at Manuela, who was smiling down at him, hands resting on her hips. “Good morning, Professor Manuela.” He yawned, scooting himself upright to sit with his back against the headboard. “Why did you open my curtains?”

“Well, I thought the sun would help you wake up.” She pulled a chair up beside his bed, gathering her skirt from behind her as she sat. “I needed to check you over, and finish healing that cut on your hand.”

“Cut on my…?” Linhardt looked at his right hand, confused. Manuela helpfully corrected him, lifting his bandaged left hand to his eyeline. “Oh, that.”

The healer chuckled wryly as she lowered his hand, casting a white magic rune sign above it. Warmth glowed in his palm, radiating outward to the tip of each finger and back up his arm. “I had to drag you back to bed myself - you’re  _ welcome,  _ by the way - but I was too worn out to heal you then. I’m just glad you’re not as heavy as Hanneman. You must have bones like a bird.” She chattered on cheerfully, all the while keeping focused on the runes glowing above his hand. “Lucky too that your room is so close to the lab, so I didn’t have to carry you too far. But you should thank Annette for finding you - you could have seriously injured yourself, all alone in the lab at night!”

Linhardt was watching the runes twirl and shine with interest, only half-listening to Manuela ramble. But he looked up at the last sentence, brow furrowing. “Annette found me?”

Manuela glanced up at his face briefly, before her eyes flickered back down to his hand. “Sure did. You scared her half to death.” She shook her head and tutted. “All that blood from your hand - she probably thought you were dead, poor thing.”

Looking up through her lashes, Manuela was surprised to see an expression of sincere concern on Linhardt’s face. He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, brow crumpled in thought. “I didn’t intend to scare her.” He said finally.

The healing spell wound to its completion, the runes fading into thin wisps of light before vanishing entirely. Manuela unwound the bandage, revealing an almost imperceptible scar on his palm. She straightened up with a satisfied sigh. “Well, you can tell her yourself. She’s probably still waiting outside.”

“She is?” Linhardt gave a start, and Manuela laughed brightly.

“She is! At the very least, she was when I came by twenty minutes ago. Seemed like she’d been waiting here for you to wake up for awhile.” She stood, gathering her things as she spoke before heading to the door. 

She paused with her hand on the door handle, casting a look at Linhardt over her shoulder. “She really  _ does  _ deserve a thank you. You’re rested enough to have a chat with her, right?”

Linhardt scratched his forehead, deep in thought. But he looked up at Manuela with his normal sleepy smile. “As rested as I ever am.”

Manuela rolled her eyes.

*

Annette was sitting on the stone floor beside Linhardt’s door, when Manuela came out and gave her a nod. She had been sitting long enough that she had to shake the pins and needles from her legs as she stood. Clutching a satchel to her chest, she nodded gratefully to Manuela as she passed. Then, hesitantly, she pushed the door open - peeking inside.

Linhardt was sitting in his bed, the covers drawn up over his knees. He was examining his left hand, rubbing the scar on his palm with his thumb. He glanced up when he heard the door hinges creak. When he saw Annette’s face through the gap, he straightened up a little. “Good morning, Annette.”

Annette flushed - she didn’t know why. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her with a click. “Good morning.” She stood awkwardly with her back to the door for a moment, uncertain, before asking lamely, “Are you feeling okay?”

He smiled, tipping his head slightly, and shrugged. “As well as ever, I suppose.”

“Oh. Good.” She looked down at her shoes, biting her lip. “That’s good.”

Silence fell for a beat, as Annette stared at a smudge on the floor, and Linhardt stared at her.

Suddenly a look of realization flitted across his face. He straightened, clapping a hand to his forehead. “Oh, right! An apology is in order.”

Annette’s face crumpled and the flush on her cheeks deepened. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh Linhardt, I know, I -”

“Annette, I apologize that you had to find me at such a late hour in such...alarming circumstances. It was very inconsiderate of me. So thank you for helping me, and I am sorry.” He beamed contritely at her.

Annette’s face snapped up from her shoes, her jaw falling open. She stared at him for a full moment in shock. “You’re sorry - ? Linhardt, no, no no, I -” She shook her head furiously, rushing to the side of his bed, and when she looked up again her eyes were tearing up. “You don’t have anything to apologize for! It’s  _ me  _ who should apologize!”

He blinked at her. Then cocked his head like a confused puppy. “You? Whatever for?”

Annette gaped at him. Disbelieving, she plopped down into the chair at his bedside.

It took her a few moments to find the words. She rubbed her forehead, blinking back tears. Linhardt watched her face with gentle confusion. Finally she dropped her hand and looked at him. “You...you were working in the lab last night, weren’t you?”

“Of course.” He chuckled slightly. “What else would I be doing?”

She waved her hand in frustration. “I don’t know - I mean, you were  _ working  _ working. I…” She hesitated, closing her eyes again, before continuing in a pained voice, “When I was cleaning up, I...I found these...under your desk.”

Annette set the satchel she’d been carrying on the bed. From it she pulled out sheaves and sheaves of paper, bound with string and packed with densely neat handwriting. She set them on the bedcover beside Linhardt. 

“They’re notes on experiments -  _ hundreds  _ and hundreds of experiments. Spells that Constance and Hanneman and I haven’t even gotten  _ near  _ to.  _ New  _ spells, written out by hand, and hundreds of notes just on getting the  _ new  _ spells to function.” She paused, a lump rising in her throat. 

She glanced up at Linhardt, who was looking in interest at the first page she’d handed him. She continued shakily, “Linhardt, there’s  _ months  _ of work here, and... it’s all in your handwriting. It’s  _ your  _ work, isn’t it?”

Linhardt’s eyes scanned the page, brow furrowed. Then he set it gently on his lap, turning his gaze back to Annette. “I had it organized, so I wish you hadn’t moved it - but yes, this is all mine.”

Annette nodded. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “You’ve been working at night. To get this much work done, it’d have to have been practically  _ every  _ night since we got here. Haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and her voice was very small. “That’s why I found you in the lab when I did.”

He looked off into the distance, thoughtful. “Not every night, but close to it. Yes, I think that’s accurate.”

Annette put her face in her hand. “Goddess.  _ Goddess. _ And I thought...” She rubbed her temples, and sighed shakily. Then she looked up at him through her fingers. “The only thing I can’t figure out is  _ how.  _ I mean, we would use up all the blood samples during the day, so how did you test so many…” She trailed off, watching him scratch his cheek, and then her eyes focused in sudden realization. She sat up straight. “You didn’t…?”

Linhardt smiled slightly. He pulled his left hand away from his face, studying it. “Having the samples to test certainly was a puzzle at first, but it didn’t take me long to find a solution.”

Annette caught his hand with her own. Slowly she turned it over, spreading out his fingers with both hands. The scar on his palm glinted faintly in the light. She looked closely, squinting - and saw similar scars, barely visible, covering the tips of each finger on his hand. Dozens of scars. She sucked in a breath.

“Your  _ own blood. _ ” She gasped. “You’ve been experimenting on your  _ own blood?!” _

Linhardt shrugged. “It was the logical solution - It’s the most accessible blood I have,  _ and  _ I have a crest.” He flexed his fingers thoughtfully. “It follows that if I could successfully remove  _ my own  _ crest, then it would work on  _ any _ crest, right?”

“But - but -” Annette’s grip on his hand tightened, and she looked desperately at his serene face. “You hate blood, any blood! Don’t you pass out when you see it - ?”

He nodded seriously. “Oh, definitely. I still pass out sometimes - which is what happened last night, I’m afraid. I slipped while pricking my finger and accidentally sliced my hand. Sorry again for that.”

Annette barely seemed to hear him. Her mind was spinning. “That’s - but  _ still -  _ and being willing to lose your  _ crest  _ \- how could you -  _ why  _ would you -” She stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish, searching for an answer in his mild expression. 

He gave her a long, appraising look. His eyes felt as deep as any ocean. 

And then he smiled - his face completely devoid of sarcasm or wit. A sincere, oblivious, devastating smile. 

“Lysithea’s my friend.” He said simply. “So I wanted to help.”

Annette’s heart broke.

His hand slipped limply from her grasp, and she put her face in her hands. “Goddess.  _ Goddess.  _ I am a  _ horrible  _ person.”

Linhardt watched her curiously, while she lurched forward to bury her face in the bedcover with a moan. She spoke again, her voice muffled into the blanket. “I chased you around the monastery - I yelled at you - I said the nastiest things about you not caring…and here you were - ” She waved vaguely in his direction, “- doing more and  _ sacrificing _ more than  _ any  _ of us.” She lifted her head, eyes blurry with tears. “Why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me? All those times I woke you up, you must have hardly been getting any sleep at  _ all  _ \- all those times I called you lazy - why didn’t you tell me I was wrong? Why didn’t you tell me how hard you were working?”

He blinked at her, puzzled. “You never asked.” He paused, then added, “I honestly thought you knew.”

She gave a start, horrified. “You thought I  _ knew? _ And still  _ treated  _ you that way?” Annette’s mouth fell open. Then she laughed, harshly, hand to her forehead, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You must think I’m a monster. And honestly, I am. What kind of person just assumes their friend is  _ that  _ neglectful, without questioning for a second if they’re missing something? And goes to such lengths to push that onto them…? Goddess. You must  _ hate _ me. You...” 

She looked up at him, grief-stricken and confused. There was no anger in his face. No malice, no ire...nothing but that slight smile, that puppy-dog head tilt, calm as the dawn. She took a shuddering breath. “Why...why don’t you hate me? After everything I’ve done to you…?”

Her cheeks were red and blotchy, tears running unnoticed down her face. Her ginger hair was loose and wild, falling in front of her tear-stained eyes. Linhardt studied that messy, ruddy face, with the same intensity that he studied any spell.

Slowly he reached forward, gently brushing the hair out of her eyes with his fingertips. A shiver ran down Annette’s spine.

“I don’t hate you, Annette. I don’t think I could.” He said softly. “You’ve always been one of the rare people who don’t give up on me. I didn’t appreciate it as much when we were students, but looking back I am exceedingly grateful for how much you pushed me. So when you were pushing me now, I believed you were doing so because you saw more in me than I did. So I wanted to be the person that you saw in me.”

His fingers brushed her cheek, as light as feather down. Annette’s face felt hot. She was certain that she was blushing bright red. But all she could see was Linhardt’s eyes, those deep blue eyes, looking at her with such piercing kindness and trust - before more tears blurred her vision. She rubbed them away, choking on a laugh and a sob. “Well you’re  _ clearly  _ already that person. A much better person, really.” She chuckled brokenly. Then sighed. “I’m so sorry, Linhardt. If I were really trying to inspire you, I would have trusted you first. I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

Linhardt nodded, slowly. “Well, thank you for the apology.” He sat back, his hand dropping from her face. Then he smiled again, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I will say, I am glad that you don’t really want me to work days  _ and  _ nights. I really do need more sleep than that. The master of dreams was  _ very  _ discontent with me of late.”

Annette spluttered a laugh through her tears, grinning. Linhardt stretched luxuriously and sighed, content.

They sat in that feeling for a moment. The sun through the window was so warm.

Annette rubbed at her eyes again, and sniffed. “Linhardt?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” She cracked a sad smile at him. “I’m not sure I deserve it, but I can try to live up to how nice you are to me. I want to be...kinder. Better myself. I hope that one day I can...be the person  _ you  _ see in  _ me _ .”

He smiled back. He laid his hand on top of hers. “I think you aren’t giving yourself enough credit. But if there’s any way I can help, I’d be glad to.”

“Yeah?”

“Naturally.” He grinned languidly at her, eyes shining from under his long eyelashes. “After all, ‘helping others is how we grow as people’, right?”

She laughed. “Right, right. Throw my words back at me.” 

“Just make sure to keep pushing me, though. Maybe not  _ as much _ as lately - but I’d hate to lose your motivation altogether.”

“I...think I can do that.” Annette took his hand in her own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “As long as you push  _ me _ too.”

Linhardt squeezed her hand back. “I’ll see what I can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction of a "have-my-cake-and-eat-it-too" AU, based on the Verdant Wind route of the games. It draws from, remixes and combines many of the possible paired endings from the game in order to allow my favorite ships - this story in particular was inspired by me wondering how Lysithea could be saved if she DIDN'T marry any of the scholar characters (since I love her and Cyril together.) And that story lent itself very organically to how Linhardt and Annette might fall for each other!  
> This is also one of my first attempts at fan fiction, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head and just HAD to write it. So I hope anyone who finds this enjoys it. More chapters to come!


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